


the choice that makes us

by Nemainofthewater



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Don’t copy to another site, Elias is an awful human being, Extra Treat, Gen, M/M, Mind Rape, and martin deserves a hug, canon-typical mind rape, spoilers up to mid season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Two talks between Martin and Elias. And a secret.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	the choice that makes us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prim_the_Amazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/gifts).



> warning for canon typical Elias mind-rape

Martin takes a deep breath. And then another. And another. Congratulations to him, he’s managed to achieve the same level of competence as a literal baby. His hands are trembling. He notices it distantly. Like it’s happening to someone else.

The statements aren’t burning anymore. There’s just a pile of ash in front of him, gently steaming. He can smell the acrid smoke. It’s tickling his nose. He wants to sneeze. He doesn’t sneeze.

He keeps breathing. It’s hard. He continues anyway.

“It’s a pity it had to come to this, Martin,” Elias says. Or at least Martin thinks he says it? His voice is hard to hear, distant.

“You’re not sorry,” Martin says, and his voice is trembling. Weak. “You- you enjoyed that. I _felt_ it.”

Elias smiles. Adjusts the cuffs of his dress shirt fastidiously. Brushes a minute speck of dust off his collar. His movements are languid, satisfied. Smug. Martin wonders whether he gets something from this. Some nourishment or food or power or whatever. Or if it’s just the power trip. The thrill of digging into a person’s very psyche and coming out the other side, replete with forbidden knowledge.

“ _Both_.” Elias hisses and Martin jerks back in alarm. At the feeling of violation, of intrusion. The knowledge that someone has access to his thoughts, his t _houghts_. There’s something wet running down his face. Martin doesn’t know whether its tears or blood. He’s not sure that it matters.

“Oh Martin,” Elias says, “Do you really think that I would bother to monitor your pitiful, lacklustre thoughts? No. There are limits to my vigilance. Don’t be disappointed though Martin. You’ve _thoroughly_ caught my attention.”

He leans forward, so close that Martin can feel his breath tickling his face as he continues: “But if you ever get the urge to, what was it you said earlier? Ah yes, ‘act out’ again let me warn you. There are far worse things that I could tell you. Don’t forget it.”

The door closes with a soft _click_. It’s as loud a gunshot to Martin’s ears.

He keeps staring forward. The wetness continues to drip down off his face to land gently on the table.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Later, watching Elias being led away in cuffs- Martin can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing. He watches out the window as his boss, his ex-boss now thank god, is led to a police car and none-too-gently shoved inside it. Elias complies easily enough but before he does Martin swears he sees him glance up. Straight up at him. And smile. 

#

Months later he’s back. Staring at Elias who is sitting in the uncomfortable prison chair as if it were his sinfully expensive office desk, lounging back. Completely at ease despite the handcuffs encircling his wrists.

There’s a tape recorder whirring away on the table between them. Martin doesn’t know if it was there before he entered the room, but he doubts it.

“There,” Elias says as it switches itself on with a contented _click_ , “Much better.”

“You know, I don’t care if Jon hears this?”

Martin does. He does because he knows Jon and he knows that the man has the self-preservation instinct of a headless chicken. If he gets so much of a hint of what’s going on, then he’ll be running headfirst into danger _again_. And- look. It’s stupid and selfish. But Jon is the last one of them left. Because Tim and Sasha are _dead_ and if he has to keep Jon ignorant to protect him? Then he will. He will.

“Come Martin, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Let’s not start with lies.”

Elias smiles indulgently and Martin digs his nails into the meat of his palm to stop himself from punching the man. Instead he takes a deep, calming breath.

“Fine.”

“I am so very pleased to see you.”

Inwardly Martin snorts. Because does Elias expect him to believe that he doesn’t know that Elias has been peering over their shoulders metaphorically and through their eyes and minds, less-metaphorically? Elias isn’t even bothering to be convincing. Martin narrows his eyes and restrains himself to a single, non-descript: “Mmmhmm.”

“No time for pleasantries?” Elias raises an elegant brow. “Well then, to business. Tired of running budgets for Peter? I know I would be.”

“I don’t care what sort of, weird animosity thing you and Peter have going on,” Martin snaps, “But you can do it on your own time. I’m-”

“A very busy man? And yet you made time to visit me. I feel so… _honoured_.” Elias’ voice is a sibilant hiss on the last word and Martin is struck with the sinking suspicion that he’s misstepped somewhere.

“I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” Elias says, “So let’s get straight to the point, shall we? Everything Peter has told you is true.”

Martin waits a beat, but Elias has finished talking. “That’s- that’s all you’re giving me?” he finally asks, “I mean- you’re not going to-”

“Elaborate? No. Not on this. Other things, however-” He gives the tape recorder a sly look. It’s still running.

“I think you’d better sit down, Martin.”

“Wha-?”

“ _Sit. Down_.”

Martin sits down.

“I’m going to tell you a story, Martin,” Elias says, and his voice is low and sinister and warped by the loud static of the tape recorder. “About the little archival assistant who was so in love with my Archivist that he defied the dread Powers that rule the world and sacrificed all that he was to protect him. To keep him safe. Does this sound familiar?”

Elias doesn’t wait for an answer, nor does he expect one. Instead he flashes another toothy smile and continues uninterrupted.

“What the little archival assistant didn’t know, didn’t realise as he submerged himself in the Forsaken, sunk deeply and willingly into cold and the empty and the poison for the soul all for the sake of his love, what he didn’t know… what he didn’t know was that all that he knew and that he loved was a lie. A fabrication.”

“I- I don’t-”

Martin tries to speak but it feels like moving through treacle. His mouth is heavy and clumsy, and he can’t move it, can’t form words. He can’t move anything, the heaviness of his limbs shackling him to the chair.

“You haven’t realised?” Elias asks, and he’s regained his air of smug confidence, “You first saw Jon in the library, correct? He was reaching for a book. You took one look at him and your heart fluttered in your chest and blood rushed to your face and you couldn’t stand it- One look and you were gone.”

Martin is shaking uncontrollably now. A cold sweat has broken out across his body.

“I did that. I planted the seed and-”

CRASH

The table is bolted to the floor. That’s the only reason it doesn’t go flying when Martin, finally breaking free of his paralysis, lunges across the table and stops Elias’ monologue. With prejudice.

The door opens with a bang and police officers come rushing in, helping Elias up from where he’s sprawled across the floor, wrists still chained high above him and blood streaming out from his broken nose.

“Do you think I care?” Martin hisses at Elias in the moments before he’s escorted away, “Do you really think I give a damn about what you might or might not have done half a decade ago? However they might have started, whatever you did my feelings for Jon are _mine_. And I don’t regret them.”

Martin straightens, brushing back the police officers surrounding him and heads for the door.

“Goodbye Elias,” he says, not bothering to turn around, “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

The tape recorder snaps off. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
